


we're not lovers, we're just strangers (with the same damn hunger)

by girlsarewolves



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: Cheating, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Femslash, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Infidelity, Non-Graphic Smut, Slade is the worst and these girls deserve better, Strap-Ons, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, and yet here I am hung up on them together but also their feelings for that asshole, the incest is not confirmed merely speculated about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:01:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22122262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: They're too much alike. Tara sometimes wonders how deep that goes. (But is she thinking of Rose and Slade, or herself and Rose?)
Relationships: Tara Markov/Rose Wilson, past Tara Markov/Slade Wilson, referenced Hosun Park/Rose Wilson
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	we're not lovers, we're just strangers (with the same damn hunger)

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime near the end or after the Defiance team-up arc, playing a little fast and loose with the timeline of events and canon. There are references to Slade/Rose, but it's all in Tara's head. Also a reference to her suicide attempt, but minor.

* * *

Silver hair. Blue eyes - two, both of them real. Tall, lean, leggy. One hell of a nice rack.

Rose doesn’t really look anything like Slade, doesn’t talk like him, doesn’t even have the same body language. No, she moves more like a Robin - or whatever bird Dick Grayson and the rest of the Bat’s brood call themselves these days.

But there’s something familiar in the way she kisses, the way she towers over Tara in bed, long fingers a little too greedy to be gentle. 

Fuck, even the way she thrusts her hips reminds Tara of the few times he let things get this far.

_ ‘I never loved you.’ _

Yeah, cause that makes it okay, all the awful things he did or had her do. All the things he let her feel and believe. Telling her years too late and mostly just to piss her off or maybe clear his fucked up conscience that he was using her makes up for the scars on her wrists.

Fuck him.

Except, no, cause he likes it, even if he doesn’t care. 

Slut.

Besides, she’s fucking his daughter. Or she’s letting his daughter fuck her. Either way, she likes it. Maybe she’s a slut too. Maybe he rubbed off on her. Maybe he made her this way. Or maybe she’s just a young woman with a lot of damage and can admit that she really likes sex, whether it’s man, woman, or any other gender. 

Whether it’s her and her hand and her fucked up memories mixed with fucked up fantasies - or her and her ex’s angry daughter who doesn’t even really like her and has definitely accused her of being a common thief. Multiple times.

But  _ damn _ , she’s good with a strap-on.

“You do this with your husband?” Tara pants out, hands on Rose’s breasts, thumbs moving to see if Rose’s nipples are as sensitive as her dad’s.

“Shut  _ up _ ,” Rose snaps and kisses her, all force and teeth, to make sure she does. She hasn’t said one way or another if Hosun knows about these little hook-ups they’ve indulged in, but Tara’s guess from the start has been no.

Guess she has that in common with Daddy, too.

Not that Tara is judging. Not when she’s enjoying it so much.

They don’t mention Slade. Ever. Not during these little meetings. They avoid that topic like the plague, but Tara has a sneaking suspicion he’s just as present during them for Rose as he is for her.

Bastard.

Her thumbs brush over Rose’s nipples, and she makes a little gasping noise against Tara’s mouth that signals yeah, she’s just as sensitive to that as her old man. Maybe a little more. Good to know. For some reason Tara avoided finding that out the couple of times before. But now she keeps doing it, circling the pad of her thumbs around Rose’s perky nipples before her index fingers move so she can pinch.

Rose is groaning, and almost sounds like her dad for once.

Should Tara tell her how fucking funny it was to touch Slade like this and watch him be just a tiny bit vulnerable for a few seconds?

Nah. Rose would probably punch her. She might even stop, and that is the  _ last _ thing Tara wants right now, when she’s so damn close.

Rose really does fuck like her father.

Tara can’t help wondering if she learned from him. She remembers those weird moments where Slade would tell her she was fishing for compliments, acting a child -  _ ‘You remind me of my daughter sometimes. Too hungry for attention. It makes you weak.’ _ Tara had often shot back  _ ‘You fuck your daughter?’ _ Which usually wound up giving her some lasting bruises and sore ribs.

Now she wonders if she was far off the mark.

Or maybe she’s just a pervert. If so, it’s all Slade’s fault. He rubbed off on her.

Asshole.

Oh, fuck, “Yes, right there,” she’s hissing without even thinking, Rose’s grip on her hips lifting up to shift the angle and it is  _ just _ right, every movement of the strap-on sending sparks through her entire body.

It’s just the angle and not at all the thoughts of Slade fucking his own daughter that he said Tara reminded him off - though really, she doesn’t see it at all - that’s getting her off. Those thoughts just bring up bitter stirrings of jealousy that taint how damn good she feels and how damn close she is to her orgasm.

_ Fuck _ . She’s still jealous.

Maybe a little turned on.

Rose is cupping her face - holding her in place, a total Slade move - and kissing her, swallowing down all the curses and moans tumbling out of Tara’s mouth. Does she think about Tara fucking her dad? Does it make her jealous? Hot and bothered?

“Fuck!”

Her whole body jerks and shudders underneath Rose, taught and rigid as she tries to focus so hard on that peak of pleasure at the apex of her thighs, the slick slide of silicon inside her, tries to ride it out as long as possible. There’s no Slade, no Rose, no jealousy or guilt or shame or want, just mindless bliss that borders on pain.

And then she’s panting, flushed, her body bonelessly limp on the sweat-dampened sheets sticking to her skin. Her hands fell from Rose’s chest at some point to lay twitching at her sides. Her legs feel wobbly, like when someone shakes jell-o cubes and all they do is wiggle. She laughs at the silliness of that thought.

“What’s so funny?” Rose asks. Her breathing is slightly labored, but she doesn’t sound too bothered or spent. Another thing she must have in common with her dad. 

Damn bastard never let Tara see him spent, see him strung out and sated. She got mildly content. She got satisfied but ready to move on.

_ Fucker. _

“I don’t know,” Tara mumbles, all her humor gone. All that’s left to identify in the haze of her brain is the sting of hurt, of missing something she never even had. “It’s just...you fuck like your father.”

* * *


End file.
